


I know we only get better

by Valhalla



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Discussion of pregnancy loss, F/M, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valhalla/pseuds/Valhalla
Summary: Five moments in Luke and Lorelai's life together, post-series. (Includes spoilers for AYITL.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Gilmore Girls, after an obsessive re-watch in preparation for the revival. Not mine, etc. etc. 
> 
> Initially speculation only, but now includes definitive spoilers. 
> 
> Title from SYML.

There must be, Lorelai thinks, a list of all-time best kisses floating around out there somewhere.  

And if there's not, there  _should_  be (important historical document, duh), and this kiss -- the one that she's currently entangled in with Luke as much as her mind is racing a million miles a minute about lists and whether the charcoal is going to get all over her shoes and if anyone is going to notice them making out in the middle of the street -- needs to go right to the top because it is record-breakingly amazing and that should be preserved for historical posterity. And bragging rights.

Luke's got his arms twined tight around her and he's so warm and solid and smells exactly the same and she's almost breathless from the intensity of it -- from months of doing their awkward pining dance, trying not to get too much in each other's space -- and it feels like it might swallow her whole, like she might burst out of her skin from wanting it so much. From wanting  _him_. 

But she needs oxygen more, and so she pulls away just enough to draw in a breath, Luke's forehead still resting against hers. 

"Wow."

"Uh, yeah." Luke pulls further back, ducking his head, his smile almost shy. Lorelai can tell he's watching her, trying to gauge her reaction. "So --"

"I, um -- I need to be with Rory tonight."

It's true, completely, but she still says it like an apology and hopes the  _I am not running_  telegraphs clearly through. 

Luke nods. "Of course."

"But we'll talk." She takes another breath and presses her hands against his chest; the heat of him feels familiar and foreign all at once. "I want to talk about -- about all of this. About us."

"Good." He covers her hands with his, squeezing them tight. "Me too."  

Is this crazy? This is probably crazy. They've  _done_  this before; they've had the break-up and the epic, earth-shattering make-up kiss that left her dizzy but didn't really solve the problems they keep having, over and over, and why would this time be any different? Sure, Luke bought a boat, and she's changed too -- for the better, she thinks, minus one quickie wedding/divorce -- but is that enough to consider their baggage buried and not something they'll keep tripping over? Is it worth taking the risk?

Luke leans in and kisses her again, this time soft and gentle but with enough heat still behind it that Lorelai thinks she might just melt into a puddle of goofy, lovestruck goo all over the sidewalk (and wouldn't Taylor would  _love_ that). 

"So we'll talk," he murmurs. "Tomorrow?"

His eyes look so bright, so hopeful ... so  _ready_. It sparks something deep within her chest, warmth filling her up. 

"Tomorrow. Promise."

It's worth it, she knows. It's so, _so_ worth it. 


	2. Chapter 2

"We don't have to get married." 

Luke glances back at Lorelai from the stove, almost mid-pancake flip. She's at the kitchen table, coffee cup grasped between two hands and pyjamas still rumpled from bed, and though he's pretty much a pro at translating her non-sequiturs by now the jump from Smarties-versus-Reese's pancakes to their relationship status is giving him whiplash. 

"Huh?"

"I don't care if we get married." Lorelai shrugs and considers her coffee. "I thought I did, but our track records are pretty yikes when it comes to the wedding thing, and a piece of paper and the perfect dress aren't going to make me happier than I already am."

"I'm not -- where is this coming from?" Luke turns the burner down and faces her, his hands rising to hips. "I know we haven't been back together that long, but I kinda thought that was important to you. Y'know, since we almost got married before."

"Exactly," she says, the  _duh_  clearly implied. "We suck at being engaged. I mean, look at what happened to us -- we barely set a date and things fell apart. And on top of that, we both had two-second engagements to other people, followed by some  _very_ poorly thought-out international weddings --"

" -- last time I checked, Alaska was still part of America."

Lorelai rolls her eyes at him and then sighs, setting her coffee down with a little shrug. He takes that as his cue to sit next to her at the table, one foot hooking on the rung of her chair and his arm slinging around the back. On reflex, she curls into his space, and he feels ridiculously, stupidly grateful for the millionth time since they got back together.  

"Seriously, Luke, why even bother getting into that stuff again?" 

"I don't think wedding planning was to blame for our break-up," he says carefully, still feeling the phantom pain of those scars. "And I want it on the record that I was a freaking idiot for not marrying you the last time."

Lorelai smiles at that. "I mean it," she says, stressing the words. "I'm being totally honest here. We've got the house, and Rory and April and Jess and Doula and Paul Anka --" 

"-- of course --"

"-- and kids, other kids, would still be good. And that's enough for me. That's  _more_ than enough."

She looks serious. And they've been happy --  _really_ happy -- like break-out-in-song-and-dance happy, though Luke'll take  _that_ to his grave because God knows Lorelai would request a Gene Kelly number as soon as the words left his mouth. But they both get it now; they know what they'll lose if they screw up again. (Well, it's not even an  _if_ because Luke doesn't ever plan on being the particular brand of stupid that dogged him over the better part of a decade ever again.)   

"You sure about this?" He smooths her hair out onto her shoulder, curling the ends around his fingers, because apparently he can't go five seconds without touching her. "I mean it, I'll have 10 weddings if that's what you want."

"I don't want 10 weddings, though that would make a great musical --  _The 10 Weddings of Lorelai_ ," she says, picking her coffee back up. "Remind me to add that to the list."

"Fine -- no wedding," Luke says, giving her a quick kiss and getting up to tend to his sorely neglected pancakes. "As long as you're sure that you're sure?"

"I'm sure that I'm sure that I'm sure," Lorelai groans, mock-exasperated, throwing her arms up. "I'm sure squared. I'm sure to the nth degree. Okay?"

"Okay," he echoes back, flipping a pancake that looks as tough -- and as appetizing -- as the Brillo pad in the sink. "But if you ever change your mind, you let me know."

There's silence for a few seconds and Luke wonders if he's pushed the issue too far, like she wouldn't know her own damn mind. But then he hears the scrape of the chair against the kitchen floor and feels the warmth of her pressed against his back, Lorelei's arms snaking around his middle. 

"I'll let you know." She kisses his shoulder blade, and he grins to himself like a frigging loon. "Now can we have some of those pancakes? Blackened beyond belief is just the way I like them."


	3. Chapter 3

He was mid-lunch rush at the diner when he got the call. 

"I'm bleeding." 

Lorelai's voice had sounded like she was talking through cotton stuffing, all fuzzy and far away, and his heart had dropped down to his toes at the words. They'd made it all the way to 11 weeks this time. They'd thought -- he'd thought -- that maybe, maybe it would finally work out.

"Luke, I'm bleeding. I don't know what -- I don't know if --"

Then she'd started crying and he'd dropped the phone, shouting at Caesar that he had to go, flying back to the house so fast Taylor would've had a heart attack if he'd seen him. Not that he would've cared.  _Screw_ Taylor, he'd thought, and screw the whole damn world that this is happening to them  _again,_  and that Lorelai is going through this  _again_ , and that this cycle of hope and nerves and pain and exhaustion keeps knocking them over.  

He'd taken her to the doctor right away, confirming what they both already knew, and scheduled the procedure for the next day. They'd parked the truck in the driveway after a silent drive home and they were still sitting there, his hand on her knee.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to try again." Lorelai balls the tissue in her hand even tighter, her words thick with tears. "I don't think I have anything left in me. We knew this could be hard -- I mean, neither of us are spring chickens anymore, and I'm a 'geriatric' pregnant lady apparently -- but I just can't hope, again, that this time I'll stay pregnant, I just can't do it --"

"Okay," Luke says, folding her into a hug as she weeps, feeling wave after wave of a keening grief he didn't know he even existed crash over him. It feels deep enough to drown in. "Okay."

He's had Rory since she was 12, he chants to himself while Lorelai cries in his arms, and Jess since he was 17 and April and Doula for almost four years and he should count his lucky stars every damn day that he's gotten to help raise four amazing kids, even if it's been in bits and pieces. 

He has four kids (three he practically considers his own, anyway) and the love of his life and he is  _lucky_ , dammit. 

He cries all the same.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intended for this story to be finished before AYITL came out, which clearly didn't happen, and then my original fourth chapter got Jossed before I could finish it, and I had to wait for new inspiration to strike. So! There are now officially spoilers in this story, as of this chapter. :)

She finally asks the question that's been itching at her brain once they're in bed, after pretty much the most amazing shower of her life to wash away all the hiking stink and with Luke -- her  _fiancé_ , thank you very much -- threading his hand through her hair in a way that almost makes her want to purr, and though she feels deliciously sleepy the image of him stepping into the kitchen with a jewelry box in hand is still driving her nuts. 

"Hon?"

"Yep."

She's mostly laying on his chest, smelling his clean T-shirt smell and enjoying how  _warm_ he is, so the word comes out more of a rumble than anything else. 

"Why did you still have my ring? I mean,  _where_ exactly were you keeping it for 10 years and why didn't you ever tell me and how did I never notice a sparkly piece of jewelry in almost a decade of co-habitation?"

Luke's fingers pause, for a second, at her temple. 

"Well," he says, "I can't remember the last time you actually cleaned out that desk -- in fact, I'm pretty sure the Al's take-out menu from 2005 is proof -- and I knew that, so I kept it there."

It's a little rushed, a little stilted, and she knows -- in a way that makes her feel warm and hopeful, not unmoored like it used to -- that this is still hard for them, the conversations where they have to drop all of their defences. They're freaking middle-aged and still basically scared teenagers when it comes to the big stuff, which hello? Is ridiculous. But they're working on it; she knows that now. And they're going to  _keep_ working on it.

They're going to keep fighting for each other.

"After you gave it back to me, I dunno, I held onto it. For safekeeping, I guess." She feels Luke's shrug. "And then I brought it with me when I moved back in, and I know we talked about it early on and decided we weren't going to do the whole engagement thing again, but I kept it. In the desk, because I didn't want you to feel like I felt one way or another, because I didn't, or like I was trying to pressure you, which I wasn't, but -- just in case you, uh, changed your mind."

Lorelai smiles wide at his rambling, then leans up to kiss him. 

"I'm glad  _we_ changed our minds."

"Me too."

"And I'm glad you kept the ring."

"Me too."

"So," she says as she tucks herself in closer to him, her eyelids getting heavy, "you beat your own record, bucko. Knocked that whole 'eight years with a horoscope' thing right out of contention. I mean,  _pfft_ , eight years with a piece of paper in your wallet? Who cares when you've got a  _decade_  with a diamond ring in your desk!" 

Luke rolls his eyes as he settles himself around her, telegraphing equal parts exasperation and love. 

"Yep, got the world record for most sentimental idiot."

"Hey, my fiancé is  _not_  an idiot." She pokes him, feebly, in the shoulder for good measure, halfway to sleep. "My fiancé, I'll have you know, is actually the record holder for most romantic guy in the  _universe_. And I bet he's going to sweep the 'best husband' category too."

They're laying face-to-face now, Lorelai starting to drift off. Luke's smiling his special Luke smile, the one that seems to light up his whole face. 

"He's gonna try."

Lorelai kisses him one more time; a drowsy, happy kiss. 

"Until body bags do us part."

She falls asleep to the sound of his laughter. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos! My writing (and inspiration) is so random and sporadic these days, so it's really wonderful to get such great feedback. :)

In the end, Rory's baby makes his entrance almost two weeks late, in the middle of a sweltering, early summer night.

("A true Gilmore!" Lorelai crows as they jam themselves into the Jeep, Rory's contractions getting too close and too painful to bear.)

Luke's actually in and out of the delivery room for the thing -- which makes his stomach flip-flop, with the needles and the moaning and the _fluids_ \-- doing his best to help by supporting Rory as she hobbles around the hospital floor to keep her labour moving, and getting ice chips from the lounge, and running home when she goes through her third pair of yoga pants in an hour and _oh my god_ childbirth is disgusting.

Well, it's not just that. It's kinda beautiful and incredible and awe-inspiring, and his already-healthy respect for Rory -- and hell, women in general -- goes up by one trillion per cent when he sees the pain she's soldiering through. But Luke's still a little relieved when, just as things start to get really rough, she turns to him and roars to _get the hell out; can't you see I'm pushing a baby out of my vagina?!_

He makes a quick exit to the waiting room, and passes the time alternately shredding the hospital's magazines into tiny, nervous strips, pacing the hallway, and sending out text updates to Logan (itching to jump on a plane; Rory didn't want him at the birth but acquiesced to a visit as soon as the baby is born) and Emily (delayed by a sudden storm in Nantucket and currently screeching at her driver somewhere on the I84) and Sookie and Lane (flailing at home, waiting for the word to come visit) and April (who keeps sending him _more_ disgusting birth facts) and Jess (who's been helping Rory with the book and popping in to visit more lately than the last five years combined).

Lorelai comes to get him once the baby's been weighed and measured and cleaned up, and Rory is sitting back in her hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, fumbling through her first attempts at nursing and swearing that if she hears one comment about her propriety after 17 hours of labour she's going to punch them in the throat.

("I read the books!" Luke protests, hands up in the air. "Big fan of Ina May!")

Eventually he makes another run to the house to get a few things that didn't make it into hospital bag, plus two giant cups of fresh coffee and a jumbo package of Red Vines. By the time he gets back Rory's out cold, Lorelai standing next to her bed with the baby swaddled in her embrace.

"Hi," she whispers, looking up at him with still-teary eyes.

"Hi yourself. How is she?"

"Good. Sore. Exhausted. Amazing. Did I mention sore?"

Luke drops the bag on a chair, the coffee on the bedside table, and walks up to join her.

"And how's the little guy?"

He pulls the blanket back with careful fingers, watching the tiny, wrinkly face relaxed in sleep, a knit cap pulled tight over his head of jet-black hair.

"Sleepy and adorable. He's barely made a peep since you left." Lorelai turns to him, carefully pressing the bundle into his arms. "Here -- you haven't had a chance to hold him yet."

All of Luke's protests die away as soon as she hands him over. It's wonderful, and painful, holding the baby. Feeling his love for Rory multiply -- by a million; by infinity -- as he gently bounces him in his arms. Wondering if he'll inherit the same blue eyes, if he'll want to play baseball, if he'll teach him how to make pancakes. But then the _what ifs_ creep in, as much as he tries to keep them at bay; what it would've been like to hold April the same way, or his and Lorelai's kid, or --

Those memories are like a punch to the gut. He's happy, truly -- he'd meant what he said to Lorelai, a thousand times over -- but the endless disparate threads of what could have been still haunt him a little, still make a distant ache of longing take root and blossom in his joy.

Ah. Well.

He nods down at the papers spread across Rory's feet, more as a distraction than anything else.

"What's all this stuff?"

"Oh, just some paperwork for the baby." Lorelai starts grabbing at the pile and haphazardly shuffling it away. "She passed out from exhaustion after the 25th form."

It's weird, the way she's shovelling the jumble of paper into her arms as fast as she can, but not much beyond the usual Lorelai craziness, so Luke doesn't think much of it until one sheaf of paper starts to slip out from the rest. A word -- _a name_ \-- jumps out at him and he reads it again, and again, and suddenly it's like a tidal swell of feeling everything at once (the glare of the hospital lights, the baby's soft in-out breathing, how hot his face's gotten in the last thirty seconds) and then receding, only leaving _that name_ in its wake.

"Why --" he starts, faintly, then stops because his throat's apparently turned into freaking sandpaper, and he has to gulp hard before he can keep going. "Why does it say William?"

Lorelai sighs, dropping the paperwork onto the side table. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"It says William." He gazes down at the sleeping, squishy bundle in his arms, still in blank shock. "His name's William."

"Well, Rory wanted to use a family name, and she couldn't deal with the thought of her son being called Dicky." Lorelai's expression turns soft, the joke fading away. "She loves you, Luke. You're as much her father as Christopher ever was. She knew how much it would mean to you."

"My dad," he whispers, hoarse. His heart thuds in his ears and godammit his eyes are burning but he is _not_ going to cry. "She named him after my dad?"

"William Richard Gilmore."

Hearing her say it makes it real, and the smile that slips out turns into a laugh-sob, and then he _is_ crying, in a way he hasn't since Rory's graduation or when April got accepted to MIT or when Jess's book cracked the top-10 list in some weird indie magazine. (Okay, so maybe he cries more than he thinks. Real men admit their feelings, dammit.)

Lorelai's tearing up again at _his_ tears, which makes him cry more, and just before he's convinced they're going to be stuck in some weepy feedback loop for all of eternity she leans forward and touches the baby again.

"We're your grandma and grandpa, little guy. And we're always gonna be here for you, okay? Us and your mom and your dad and your great-grandmother and your step-aunt and step-cousin-whatever, and the whole town."

Her gaze lifts from the baby and shifts to him. It's a funny look, one he can't decipher.

"You know," she starts, treading carefully. "I'm not going to go full-on _Mommy's Little Girl_ crazy grandma or anything, but we'll be in his life. We'll get to help raise him, and I'll sneak him Pop-Tarts while he's still way too young and you can teach him how to use a hammer and complain about stuff, and he won't be _our_ baby obviously but he is _a_ baby. And I know you're happy and you're satisfied -- I get that now, I do -- and that the baby thing didn't work out for us, but he's like the icing on the cake. The, uh, metaphorical baby cake."

Luke grins at her, blinking back more tears.

"Yeah," he musters, because anything more and he'll be crying again. "He is."

Lorelai smiles and steps closer to him, one arm threading around his middle, resting her head against his shoulder. They both watch their grandson start to squirm, impossibly tiny fingers opening and curling back up. Then two dark eyes blink open, and if Luke thought his heart couldn't get any fuller before he swears now it's about to burst out of his chest.

And he thinks about how damn grateful he is that 21 years ago, a crazy lady desperate for a caffeine fix wandered into his diner.

"Hi William," he whispers. "Welcome to the family."


End file.
